


I Wish You Would

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fighting, Love Letters, M/M, Melancholy, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras confesses his love to Grantaire in a letter, and ten years later, learns that Grantaire never received it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish You Would

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer applies! Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Combeferre leaned against Enjolras’s door. “Are you all packed?” he asked, his tone brisk so as not to imply that he was feeling sad about the departure of his best friend for at least two years to get his Master’s degree abroad.

Enjolras straightened and gave Combeferre a look that said he knew exactly what Combeferre was feeling. “Yeah, I think so. Only one thing left to do before I’m officially ready to go.”

Combeferre blanched. “You’re actually planning on going through with this?” he asked skeptically. “I mean, you realize that this plan sounds like something Courfeyrac and Jehan would come up with while completely stoned out of their minds, right?”

“That is patently untrue,” Enjolras said evenly. “At worst, this plan sounds like something out of a bad romantic comedy, but that’s beside the point. This plan is going to _work_.”

“This plan is asinine,” Combeferre said, his patience running thin. “You’re going to slip a note that you wrote telling Grantaire what you feel for him under his door instead of just, you know, telling him how you feel at your going away party tonight? In what universe does that seem like a plan that has any chance of working?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “We’ve been over this,” he sighed. “I try to say anything to Grantaire and I turn into a stammering idiot, which is not the way that I want him to think of me when I’m gone. Besides, this way, if he doesn’t feel the same way that I do, this way he’s got an out and can let me down easily.”

Combeferre sighed as well, a long-suffering sigh. “If you think that he doesn’t feel the same way…” He shook his head. “And what is this note going to say?”

Enjolras instantly brightened. “Oh, I already wrote it. Well, I asked Jehan to help me write it, and then I took it to Cosette and had her get rid of any reference to blood or death, and then I took it to Musichetta and had her get rid of anything that would make me want to vomit.”

Almost despite himself, Combeferre was impressed. “So you confess that you’ve had a thing for Grantaire for years now—”

“—And I tell him that if he feels the same way, he should meet me at the airport tomorrow before I leave so that we can talk things over before I go,” Enjolras finished. “Totally casual, no commitment necessary.” He glanced at Combeferre, suddenly nervous. “You, uh, you think it’ll be ok?”

Combeferre pursed his lips, debating over telling Enjolras what he really though or comforting him. Seeing as how Enjolras was going to be leaving and Combeferre wasn’t going to be able to see him for lord only knows how long, he took the latter option. “I think everything will be just fine,” he told him. “These things tend to work out just the way that they’re meant to.”

* * *

 

Enjolras slid out from underneath Courfeyrac’s arm and headed over to the bar in the Musain. “Can I get a glass of water?” he asked, his voice rough from laughing and talking over the music.

Musichetta gave him a look. “You know damn well that I’m under strict instructions that the only way you get water is with another alcoholic beverage.”

“I somehow can’t believe Joly signed off on that,” Enjolras said mildly.

Musichetta winked. “What he doesn’t know…” She slid a shot of some clear liquid and a glass of water across the bar to him, watching like a hawk as Enjolras made a face but obediently did the shot. He waited for the burn, then realized it was a shot of water and gave Musichetta a confused look. She winked again and reached over to pat his hand. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

“We all are,” said an unusually morose voice, and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire leaning against the bar, an unreadable expression on his face. “I mean, who am I going to argue with while you’re gone?”

Though Enjolras laughed, his breath also seemed to catch in his throat as he looked at Grantaire. “Knowing you, you’ll find _someone_ to argue with.”

Musichetta nodded firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.” Her tone turned gentle, almost reassuring. “We’ll take care of him while you’re gone.”

Grantaire snorted. “Like Enjolras cares whether I’m taken care of or not.” He glanced over at Enjolras and cleared his throat. “Speaking of, though. I’m going to take off. So…I guess this is goodbye.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “Why so soon?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound desperate. “The night is still young, they haven’t run out of whiskey yet — surely you don’t have to leave.”

Grantaire shrugged, looking tired. “I picked up an early shift this morning to make up for taking tonight off, and I am beat. Which means I am crabby, which means I am actually _less_ fun than normal. Difficult to achieve, I know, but there we are.” He paused and favored Enjolras with that special, slow grin he seemed to reserve just for him. “But if it helps, Apollo, think of this way: it just means you get to miss me that much sooner.”

“Well that just won’t do,” Enjolras said decidedly. “I’ll walk you home. Then we don’t have to worry about anyone missing anyone for a good bit then.”

Grantaire gaped at him for a long moment, then quickly shook his head. “What? No, that’s insanity. It’s like ten minutes away, and you can’t leave your own going-away party. Especially not for that.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Enjolras told him, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just walk you home and then come back. It’ll take twenty minutes, and I could use a break, to be honest. Courfeyrac keeps trying to get me to do belly shots and Marius won’t stop crying, though I don’t think that actually has anything to do with my departure.”

Though Grantaire looked like he still wanted to argue, he just shrugged and said, with a slightly crooked smile, “Well, ok then”, before following Enjolras out.

Despite ostensibly wanting to spend just ten minutes more together, they were both fairly quiet as they walked down the street, only occasionally saying something inane before falling into comfortable silence again. Grantaire kept glancing at Enjolras, something unreadable in his expression, and when they finally reached Grantaire’s apartment building, he turned to face Enjolras, his brow furrowed. “So,” he said, though he didn’t finish the thought.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him. “So,” he repeated, with a small smile.

Grantaire didn’t smile, his expression serious. “I really will miss you,” he blurted, flushing slightly as he said it. “I know two years isn’t that long, but I can’t help feel like you’re going to go abroad and forget all about us.”

“Never,” Enjolras declared, taking a step towards Grantaire. “I could never forget you — any of you, I mean.”

“Right,” Grantaire said, cocking his head slightly and licking his lips. “I was just — I was thinking, um, maybe…” He trailed off and Enjolras just looked at him. Then Grantaire shook his head. “I mean, I want you to have a good time, alright?”

Enjolras gave him a smile. “I promise. And you try to have fun here, ok?”

Grantaire snorted. “Sure,” he said, sarcasm clear in his voice. “I’ll definitely have fun here.” He looked at Enjolras again, reached out as if to hug him, changed his mind and clapped him on the shoulder, and quickly took a few steps backward. “Anyway, I hope your flight goes well tomorrow. And, uh, I guess this is goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Grantaire,” Enjolras said softly.

Grantaire headed up the steps to his apartment door, turned around to wave at Enjolras, then unlocked the door and disappeared inside. Enjolras waited for a long moment, just staring at the door, before heading up to the door to slip the letter he’d been carrying around all night underneath the door.

* * *

 

Enjolras checked his watch for the millionth time in an hour, his heart sinking. If he didn’t get in line for security soon, he was never going to get to his gate in time for his plane. But if he got in line for security, there was a chance that he might miss Grantaire.

Unless, of course, if Grantaire wasn’t coming.

A part of him wanted to text Grantaire, just to see if he was stuck in traffic, maybe, or if he got caught up with something else, or—

There was no way that he could do that. Not without assuming that Grantaire returned his feelings, which was what the entire purpose of this was supposed to have been. No, instead there was one huge, obvious reason for why Grantaire wasn’t here.

He didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t like Enjolras.

Enjolras could feel tears welling in his eyes, not helped when someone accidentally ran into his shoulder. “Sorry, man,” the guy said, glancing at him and seeing the tears shining on his cheeks. “Dude, are you ok?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, his voice cracking, and he hastily scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

The guy gave him a concerned look but moved on, and Enjolras took a deep breath before shouldering his bag. He had school ahead of him, a whole new country and new friends and new men. There was no point dwelling on this.

At least, that’s what he told himself to try to ignore the feeling of his heart breaking into a million pieces as he got into the line for security.

* * *

 

“I am walking past security,” Enjolras said into his phone, heaving his bag into a better position on his shoulder. “Meaning I’ll be to baggage claim in approximately thirty seconds. Please, _please_ tell me you don’t have one of those ridiculous signs or balloons or—” He broke off, seeing Courfeyrac and Combeferre waving enthusiastically at him, bearing both a large, brightly-colored sign, and a number of brightly-colored balloons. “Nevermind.”

He hung up his phone, grinning at both of them, and sped up, practically jogging across the airport to hug both of them at once. “You can’t honestly have expected us _not_ to have a sign,” Courfeyrac scolded him, kissing his cheek. “You haven’t set foot on your native soil in ten years, after all, caught up as you were in whatever foreign revolution you were involved in.”

Enjolras made a face. “Yeah, and judging by the fifteen minutes I’ve been back, I haven’t been missing much — besides you guys, of course.” Combeferre let out a noise like a half-sob, half-laugh, and Enjolras rubbed his back as he looked critically at the sign. “Who painted that?”

“Grantaire, of course,” Courfeyrac said, and Enjolras’s face fell. “What?”

Combeferre finally managed words. “You’re not still upset with him, are you?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Of course not,” he said primly. “It’s been ten years. There’s been other guys. I’m sure he’s dated plenty. It was — it was stupid. It was a long time ago. He probably doesn’t even remember.”

Courfeyrac glanced over at Combeferre and quickly looped his arm through Enjolras’s. “Well, regardless, let’s get your bag so that we can get to your ‘Welcome Home’ party!”

Laughing slightly, Enjolras let himself get led over to the baggage carousel. “Some things never change, do they?” he mused.

* * *

 

Apparently, they did.

When Enjolras got to the Musain — which looked exactly the same, if slightly more crumbling — he was practically passed around from person to person, being hugged and kissed and patted on the shoulder, including by some person he was pretty sure he didn’t actually know. But one person did not join in the festivities: Grantaire sat at the bar, beer mostly untouched in front of him, watching Enjolras with an unreadable expression.

At first, Enjolras was confused, and a little hurt, but it didn’t take long for that to turn into anger. How _dare_ Grantaire sit there and glare at him? What right did he have to be angry with Enjolras? If anyone had a right to be angry, it was Enjolras. He was the one who got his heart broken — he was the one who had been left at the airport!

For awhile, he tried to put it from his mind, concentrating on the party, but finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, practically storming over to where Grantaire was still sitting. “Can I speak with you?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged, draining his beer and following Enjolras outside. Enjolras stopped and faced him, expression stormy. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Well, I’m mostly trying to figure out how it’s fair that it’s been ten years and you look almost exactly the same whereas I started prematurely graying,” Grantaire said coolly, frowning at Enjolras. “But I’m assuming that’s not what you mean, in which case sorry that I’m not willing to just forget like anything ever happened and give you all the hugs and kisses and bullshit in this world.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

Grantaire ignored him. “And besides, you don’t even have any right to be upset! You just — you _left_ , do you realize that? Right when we could have had something, when I thought there might be a chance that you might finally reciprocate my feelings, you left.”

“Of course I reciprocated your feelings,” Enjolras snapped. “What do you think the whole point of that stupid letter was? And as for my right to be upset, well, yeah, I left, but you were the one who didn’t bother showing up.”

Now Grantaire looked confused. “What letter?” he spat. “There was no fucking letter.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Of course there was a letter — the letter that I slipped under your door, the one telling you to meet me at the airport, the one telling you that I loved you…” He trailed off as Grantaire continued just staring at him, realization setting in. “You never got the letter, did you?”

“Nope,” Grantaire said, still staring at him. “But that sounds like a really stupid plan. Why didn’t you just say something that night instead of going through the trouble of leaving me a letter?”

Enjolras started to counter, realized he didn’t have a good reason, and instead told Grantaire, “Well, you could have said something, too, if you had feelings for me.”

A strange look crossed Grantaire’s face. “I did,” he said quietly. “Many times, in many ways. And every time you ignored me or brushed me off.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Forgive me if it was pretty hard to delineate between when you were being sarcastic and not, since heaven forbid you were ever serious about anything, and that certainly doesn’t seem like it’s changed.”

Grantaire looked hurt for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he said in a defeated tone. “I was wild.”

Then he pushed past Enjolras, who shouted after him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” Grantaire told him. “You must recognize what it looks like it.”

Enjolras stared after him, torn between following him, demanding an explanation, demanding that they at least continue whatever argument was going on between them, had been going on between them, really, for the past ten years, but instead, he turned and went back inside the Musain.

* * *

 

“I’ve got something for you,” Courfeyrac said teasingly, perched on the edge of the couch where Enjolras was sleeping.

Enjolras groaned and rolled over, wincing as he did. “I am getting too old to be sleeping on couches,” he said grumpily, opening one eye to squint at Courfeyrac. “What do you have for me?”

“First, coffee.” Enjolras let out a happy noise and made grabby hands, and Courfeyrac laughed and handed him the cup of coffee. “And secondly, someone left a note for you under our door. I didn’t read it, I promise, but—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Enjolras sat up so quickly he almost sloshed his coffee all over himself as he grabbed the letter from Courfeyrac, handing the coffee back to him to open the envelope. “The note’s more important than coffee?” Courfeyrac asked, incredulous, then shrugged, setting the coffee down on the table. “Fine. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Enjolras ignored him, scanning quickly through the note, his heart pounding almost painfully in his chest:

_Apollo—_

_It’s been ten years, and I love you. Still, now, always. I have always loved you._

_But as I walked home last night, I realized that just because I love you doesn’t mean I can be in love with you right now._

_Our timing has never been right, and the way I see it, time is no man’s friend. And if there’s one thing I want for myself, it’s to be happy here, and now, with what I have. Believe me when I say that my heart leapt just as much last night as it did ten years ago when I saw you, even with how much older we’ve both gotten. But that’s not enough for right now._

_So I’m letting you off the hook, whatever hook you’ve been on for the last ten years that’s made you still angry about back then. I never meant to hurt you, but maybe it’s better this way for everyone involved._

_Love you always.  
Grantaire_

Enjolras dropped the note and stood, his expression hard. “Courfeyrac?” he asked, his voice sounding strange, even to his own ears. “Where does Grantaire live now?”

“Over by the park, in the same building Joly used to” Courfeyrac told him, frowning slightly. “Is everything alright? Was the note from him? What’s going—” Enjolras left, slamming the door behind him before Courfeyrac could even finish his sentence.

He realized halfway there that he hadn’t changed out of the sweats and old t-shirt he was wearing as pajamas, that he was wearing slippers instead of shoes, and that it really wasn’t warm enough out for any of that, but he didn’t care, marching right up to Grantaire’s door and pounding on it. As soon as Grantaire opened the door, Enjolras told him, “I don’t want to be let off some hook.”

Grantaire blinked at him, running a hand through his ruffled salt-and-pepper curls. “Good morning to you, too,” he yawned, blinking blearily at him.

“Don’t,” Enjolras snapped. “Don’t try and dismiss this and laugh it off or whatever. Why would you think that I want, or even need, to be let off some hook?”

Grantaire shrugged, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Seemed pretty clear last night that you were carrying around some animosity from ten years ago. I figured if I let you off the hook you didn’t have to think about that ever again, especially since it’s not like anything’s going to change.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Rolling his eyes, Grantaire told him patiently, “I know this move. This is classic Enjolras, like what you would do after we fight. This is where you try to make up with me, and tell me that you were wrong and that we’ll work things out. Before, it was in a platonic-ish sense, but now…” He shook his head. “Now it doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing to work out.”

“There’s plenty to work out,” Enjolras told him, angry and a little hurt. “It’s not just ten years of animosity I’ve been carrying around, but ten years of trying to get you out of my head, and knowing that you still love me, I—”

“None of that matters,” Grantaire interrupted. “Look, we’re ten years older and ten years different and even if we didn’t have this hanging over our heads, what then? You’re going back abroad in two weeks, and I’ve built a life for myself here. I can’t just pick up and follow you the way I would have ten years ago if you had just told me then that you had feelings for me. Which I’d like to point out you still haven’t now.”

Enjolras stared at him, relaxing slightly. “Is that all you’re worried about? Because I still love you,” he said simply, and closed the space between them to kiss Grantaire.

Grantaire kissed him back, pressing him against the door as he deepened the kiss, twining his fingers in Enjolras’s hair and opening his mouth against Enjolras’s, something fierce and desperate in his kiss. Then, suddenly, he pulled away, his eyes dark. “I love you, too. But that doesn’t change anything.”

Enjolras took a step back, confused. “But—” he started, while Grantaire just shook his head.

“No. No ‘buts’. Not this time, Enjolras. This time, it’s you and me, having a serious conversation. I love you. You love me. You’re leaving, again. And this time, I’m not going to let myself pine after you for another ten years. I’ve gotten very good at living without what I want, and maybe it’s time for me to figure out what I want that’s actually here and attainable.” Grantaire shrugged. “At the very least, I’d like to try.”

Enjolras blinked back the sudden tears that sprang to his eyes, feeling suddenly like he was ten years younger and standing alone in an airport, waiting for someone that will never come. “So that’s it,” he said hollowly. “We have feelings for each other and have for years, and we just…ignore them? That’s really how things are going to end between us?”

Grantaire shrugged. “It’s pretty hard to end something that never began,” he told him, his voice low, and after a moment’s hesitation, he leaned in and kissed Enjolras’s cheek before telling him quietly, “Goodbye, Enjolras.”

Then he closed the door in Enjolras’s face, leaving him standing there, ten years older, none the wiser, just as hurt as he had been, and without any hope of things working out.


End file.
